Tales Of The Heart [Aemond Targaryen]

CHAPTER NINETEEN

You're like a home,

Just the thought of coming back to you is warm.

〰

Standing outside the ornate doors of her chambers, I took a steadying breath and rapped twice. The door creaked open, and her handmaid welcomed me inside. Grandmother sat regally, engrossed in Baela's tales, a delicate tea cup in hand.

"Come, sister, join us for tea," Baela beckoned toward an empty seat.

"Baela, could you give us a moment?" I asked politely. She nodded, gracefully excusing herself from the room.

Grandmother set down her tea cup and turned her attention entirely to me. "Are you well, my dear? You disappeared from the hall yesterday, and when I went to your room, Aiday mentioned you were resting." Her keen eyes studied me, attempting to decipher my feelings, a skill she mastered over the years.

A soft sigh escaped my lips as I settled into a seat. "I grew weary of the whispers and accusing glances. That's why I left the festivities early." The flicker of emotions across her face was swift, but I caught it.

"People always find something to talk about. Learn to ignore them," she advised her tone monotone, as if understanding but unwilling to delve into the matter.

"But who granted them the right to speculate about my lineage?" Emotion crept into my voice, and her expressions remained stoic. The reality I had tried to avoid the entire night became clear as her silence confirmed the bitter truth.

"It's true, isn't it?" I pressed, and she looked down, unable to meet my gaze. "So, I am a bas-"

"MAENYA!" The interruption, delivered with a stern and forceful tone, echoed through the chambers, signaling that the conversation had touched upon a topic of great sensitivity.

"Maenya," Grandmother began, her voice softer now, tinged with a mix of regret and understanding. "These are matters, shadows of our past, and the past is best left undisturbed. It's not a question of your worth or identity. You are my granddaughter, and that remains unchanged."

Her attempt to shield me from the harsh reality only forms tears in my eyes.

"Then who am I? Velaryon? Targaryen? Or is it Maenya Waters?" Her gaze softened at my question.

She immediately motioned me towards her open arms and this was all I needed. I ran towards her and she quickly hid me in her arms. She separated me from her and held my face in her hands.

"You are just my Maenya, My Laena's Maenya." She kissed my forehead and wiped my tears. "I want you to know that your mother loved your father." She neared me again.

Rhaenys sighed. "Maenya," she began, choosing her words with a deliberateness that mirrored the gravity of the situation, "you are Daemon Targaryen's daughter, blood of House Targaryen, intertwined with the legacy of dragons."

Her response left me both worried and anxious. "Am I not Velaryon, then?" I pressed, feeling the urgency of my quest for identity.

"You bear the blood of both," she replied, her voice steady. "A union that history chose to cloak in shadows."

The revelation left me grappling with a mosaic of emotions. I was neither wholly Velaryon nor purely Targaryen but a blend of both, a living testament to the intricate interplay of history and destiny.

"Then why the whispers?" I asked, a mix of confusion and frustration bubbling within me.

Rhaenys reached out, placing a comforting hand on mine. "Maenya, the world is often unkind to those who walk a path less traveled. The whispers are born from fear, from the unknown. Embrace your heritage, for you are a dragon with wings that span both Velaryon and Targaryen skies."